


Rubber Article Number Two

by LisKin



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Condoms, Crack, M/M, Pre-Slash, Seriously though it's crack, This set of tags basically says it all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 20:37:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20031985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LisKin/pseuds/LisKin
Summary: In the Soviet Union, even condoms are liable for military duty. Valery tries to prove it inefficient.





	Rubber Article Number Two

**Author's Note:**

> I was doing some research on Soviet era sex-toys for another fic when I stumbled upon a rather detailed overview of Soviet-made condoms. Rumors said, condoms had a double purpose: in war times they could be used when a tourniquet had to be applied in order to stop bleeding, or instead of a bucket to carry 2-5 liters of water. 
> 
> The rest is my imagination being restless at bringing together Boris's army past and Valery's talent to accidentally put Shcherbina in an awkward spot. 
> 
> The characters are purely fictional.

In the Soviet Union, even condoms are liable for military duty.

  
That's what Boris Shcherbina could have said, had he been more prone to humorous remarks about sex.

  
But then, in the Soviet Union sex is no laughing matter.

  
Nothing is a laughing matter in the Soviet Union. A lot of things, however, are a it's-not-what-you-think-nothing-is-out-of-normal-and-there's-a-perfectly-reasonable-explanation matter – and that's what Boris Shcherbina is going for when Valery digs into his suitcase (_“I seem to have forgotten my toothbrush” - “The med kit in the suitcase. Look yourself, I still have these reports to go through”_) and comes out holding a bandoleer of small paper packs, each of them stamped CONDOM. RUBBER ARTICLE NUMBER TWO. STATE STANDARDS SPECIFICATION #4645-48. ELECTRONICALLY TESTED.

  
“Um... Boris?”

  
Valery holds the last pack between his finger and thumb, and raises his hand, letting the rest of it hang in the air, not unlike a machine-gun ammunition belt.

  
“You must probably know that it's not safe... The wrapping is paper and it does not protect the content from the contaminated air, not even inside the suitcase”.    
  
  
Boris barely looks beyond the report at hand, noticing the subject but not the expression on Valery's face.  
  
  
“When you need one, you need one”, he shrugs, scanning the last page, and then lets the stapled stack of papers fall onto the desk surface and turns to Legasov.  
  
  
Now he sees the face.  
  
  
“Oh no”, he cuts Valery short, whatever he was about to say. “It's not like that. They are for strategic emergency purposes”.  
  
  
“Of course they are”. Valery dangles the string of paper packs in the air. “Is that what they call it nowadays, though?”  
  
  
Had Boris actually noticed that his cheeks went red, he would argue till his last breath that it is because of anger.  
  
  
“Did you serve?” he barks a question.  
  
  
“I got a 'white card' for medical reasons”.  
  
  
“Psht! Of course, you did. Had you served, you would have known that they can save a comrade in times of need”.  
  
  
“Um, you don't really have to be in the army to know that”.  
  
  
“For fuck's sake, Legasov! Bleeding! You use it to stop the bleeding if there's a wound and you urgently need a tourniquet! That's it!”  
  
  
“Rubber article number two”, Valery reads, ignoring the outburst, and then raises his eyes back at Shcherbina. “Why two?”  
  
  
“Well, why do you think?”  
  
  
“Erm... number one is a gas mask, number three – eraser, number four – galoshes?”  
  
  
“The size, you idiot. Number one is too small. Number three is gigantic – plenty of those on the shelves, no one buys them 'cause they slip off. Number two is...”  
  
  
“...like 3.6 roentgen?”  
  
  
“..?”  
  
  
“Not great, not terrible”.  
  
  
Valery's gaze travels down – Shcherbina does not know, whether it's on purpose or involuntary, and he certainly doesn't care to know! - and stops at a point somewhat below the waist.  
  
  
“It's not... just shut up. Give that here!”  
  
  
As Boris snatches the string out of Valery's hand, the paper rips, leaving the scientist with the last pack. Legasov offers it to Shcherbina with an look that could have read _'Excuse me, didn't know you're so touchy'._  
  
  
“Just take the damn toothbrush and be gone”, Boris grunts.  
  
  
For a short while, all is back to peace on Earth and good will towards men. Valery is back onto his medical kit search, Boris returns to the reports – nevermind that he has already been through everything there was to read. It could be over here and now but Boris doesn't feel satisfied – he did not come out of that conversation as an absolute winner, and the feeling nags on him, asking for another round to settle the matters once and for all.  
  
  
“You also use them as emergency water vessels”, he says.  
  
  
“Beg your pardon?” Valery dives out of the suitcase once again.  
  
  
“You carry water in them if there's no flask or bucket close at hand. Fits two to five liters”.  
  
  
“Is is two liters for number one and...”  
  
  
Shcherbina already regrets mentioning it.  
  
  
“No. This one”.  
  
  
“The not great, not terrible one? Two to five liters? Not possible”.  
  
  
“Are you saying, the army is lying?”  
  
  
“No, of course not. I'm saying, the army is mistaken”.  
  
  
“Mind what you say, smart-ass. It's the very same army that helps you shovel all the radioactive shit away”.  
  
  
“Um, yes. While I – and I'm saying it with all due respect, – while I'm immensely appreciative and grateful for the invaluable service the army is providing for all of the Soviet people, this... rubber article would not hold five liters of fluid”.  
  
  
“It would”.  
  
  
“Is your statement confirmed by personal experience?”  
  
  
“Erm, no. Is yours?”  
  
  
“Obviously, not”  
  
  
“No actual evidence, then, just theory, huh?”  
  
  
“I'm a physicist!”  
  
  
“No evidence it is”.  
  
  
Valery cocks his head to the side and contemplates their argument for a moment.  
  
  
“I am a man of science”, he enunciates. “Thus, I stand for evidentiality. Since neither of us has actual experience to support or disprove the two-to-five-litres theory, I would say, an experiment is called for”.  
  
  
It's Boris' turn to contemplate what's been said now.  
  
  
“You're not suggesting...”  
  
  
“I am”.  
  
  
“Absolutely not”.  
  
  
“Don't you have at least a gram of scientific curiosity in you?”  
  
  
Shcherbina's look definitely confirms the absence of any amount of scientific curiosity whatsoever. His pride, though, is still thirsty and unsatisfied, and eager to jump in when Legasov says:  
  
  
“Alright. A bet, then”.  
  
  
“What?”  
  
  
“I propose a bet”.  
  
  
“What's at stake, then? We're not betting money, obviously, there's no game in that, not here, anyway”.  
  
  
“How about a wish?”  
  
  
“You already get anything you wish for. Five thousand tons of sand and boron. All the liquid nitrogen in the Soviet Union. Next, you'll ask for a lunar rover...”  
  
  
“Have you been getting what you wish for lately?”  
  
  
“Alright. A wish, then”.  
  
  
“Do you know what you'll wish for?”  
  
  
“For you to know when to keep your mouth shut – and keep it shut. How do we do this experiment of yours?”  
  
  
“First, we'll need some measuring equipment”.  
  
  
After a short discussion, glass jars are agreed to be a better option than empty vodka bottles, so they set out to the hotel kitchen in search of some empty vessels. They find a three-liter one, still unopened and filled with concentrated apple juice. Pouring the juice out seems like a waste but it's the least sacrifice they've made so far.  
  
  
“Why number two, though?” Legasov asks as they make their way back to the room, hugging the now emptied and washed jar into his chest (Shcherbina is carrying a blue plastic funnel). “Number three would probably be more practical for carrying water. Also, more practical in terms of wasteless consumption – didn't you say that nobody buys them?”  
  
  
“Here's another brilliant proposal for you to make next time I'm on the phone with Gorbachev”, Boris huffs.  
  
  
They make it up the next flight of stairs in silence but it doesn't last for long.  
  
  
“Now, draught beer”, Valery says, and Boris gives out a rather audible vicious moan. “You know, those draught beer kiosks with the endless line but you must have your own container?”

  
  
“Don't even think of finishing that thought”, Boris warns him, and Legasov does stop here and now, though not before mumbling_ 'Just wondering if you could actually drink out of it, too, if you're really thirsty' _under his breath.  
  
  
Back at the room, they head straight to the bathroom, pausing just to collect the test subject from the desk. Valery sets the jar on the edge of the tub, unbuttons his shirt sleeves and rolls them up. They have a short yet heated discussion about who's to hold and who's to pour, and they end up tossing a coin – Boris comes out as the one to pour. As Valery rips the paper and unrolls the rubber article number two, he gives out an _'Ugh'_.  
  
  
“Talcum!”  
  
  
“What?”  
  
  
“It's talcum powder. This must be uncomfortable”.  
  
  
“What, pouring or holding?”  
  
  
“Not that, Boris. The other thing. It must be really uncomfortable for, hm, both parties”.  
  
  
“No gain without pain”, Shcherbina cuts him off impatiently. “Hold it”.  
  
  
“You could lessen the discomfort with some lubricant, I guess. Vaseline or something. Wait, didn't I see a tin of 'Norka' in your kit?”  
  
  
Shcherbina's hand falters, and some water spills past the funnel.  
  
  
“That's not what we are testing, Legasov. Concentrate”.  
  
  
Before Valery has time to say something else, there is a soft plopping sound of rubber ripping under too much pressure. Some of the water splashes onto their trousers, leaving dark wet stains on the fabric.  
  
  
“I win”, Valery says.  
  
  
Boris Shcherbina, however, is not a man to give up easily.  
  
  
“Shouldn't it be two out of three, though? For the matters of statistical reliability, or something?”  
  
  
The second one withholds about two liters and rips at two and a half. Another argument follows whether it's a pass or a fail. The next one takes about five hundred millilitres. At this point, Legasov fetches a notebook and they start writing down the outcomes. Not another condom passes the two-liter threshold. Their trouser legs are soaked wet, so are the socks inside their shoes.  
  
  
“I win”, Valery repeats.  
  
  
“There is one more left”.  
  
  
“It does not change the numbers”.  
  
  
Boris shrugs.  
  
  
“Hate to leave the job unfinished”.  
  
  
Legasov lowers his head a little and gives the other man a curious gaze above his glasses.  
  
  
“Do you, indeed?”  
  
  
Before Boris can ask what is that supposed to mean, Valery tucks the last condom into Boris' lapel pocket and adds:  
  
  
“I insist you save the last one. Saves a comrade in times of need, didn't you say?”  
  
  
“We're not in times of need”, Boris barks back, meaning non-stop deliveries of much more efficient medical supplies at their disposal, and Valery meets the objection with a shy smile.  
  
  
“Oh, you never know”.  
  
  
And then –  
  
  
“I'd keep that 'Norka' handy, too. Famous for its cicatrizing effect”.  
  
  
And also –  
  
  
“Aren't your trousers wet enough to take them off?”


End file.
